


New Year's Eve

by resilient_rose



Series: Schitt's Creek Holiday Collection [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28543710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resilient_rose/pseuds/resilient_rose
Summary: David and Patrick return to Schitt's Creek for New Year's Eve. Alexis surprises them with a visit.
Relationships: Alexis Rose/Twyla Sands, Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Schitt's Creek Holiday Collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2091165
Comments: 11
Kudos: 93





	1. Chapter 1

“Think we missed the party?” 

“I hope so,” says David, turning off the highway. 

It’s New Year’s Eve and they’re almost home. It’s late, snowy. David is hunched over the wheel, wearing his glasses. He’s sure he looks far too much like his father right now.

“Well, I want to go,” Patrick yawns.

David looks at him. “How are you not partied out?”

Patrick shrugs and David shakes his head. After a week with Patrick’s cousins, David’s ready to sleep through New Year’s and emerge from his slumber in several months, like a hibernating bear. He’d be happy if he never saw another bottle of whiskey in his life and he expected Patrick to be just as beat.

“Well, _I’m_ going home--” He pauses, slowing at the only stoplight in town. He recognizes the truck in the other lane. “Oh, fuck...” 

Jocelyn waves at them from the truck as they come to a stop. David reluctantly rolls down his window. 

“Hi Rose-Brewers!” she calls. “Happy New Year!”

She’s wearing a crown with “2021” emblazoned on the front and Roland Jr. is on her lap, decked out in a sparkly blue suit.

“Joceyln, for the last time, we didn’t hyphenate our names.”

“Oh, I know that, I just like to say it!”

Roland leans around her, chuckling. “Well, there they are! Back from the north! Coming to the party?”

“Oh my God,” murmurs David.

“Yeah, we’ll be there, just have to drop off our stuff,” says Patrick.

David turns to give him the evil-eye. He smiles, unmoved, and pats David’s leg.

“Thank goodness,” says Jocelyn, sagging in relief. “Because we hit a _bit_ of a snafu. The Shop ‘n Save in Elmdale was totally out of champagne. And if memory serves me right, you boys sell _quite_ a lot of that!”

“Patrick, we are not giving them our--”

“Just got a new shipment,” says Patrick. 

“Great!” Jocelyn takes Roland Jr’s hands and waves them in the air. “You hear that, Rollie? I told you we’d find a way!”

Roland rubs his hand over his stubble. “Well...if I know the Roses...and believe me, I do...I’d say there’s a catch.”

David raises his brows. “There is a catch. It’s $37 a bottle and yes, that _is_ the friends and family price.”

Patrick leans closer. “He’s kidding. Party still at the café?”

Jocelyn grins and nods. “Yep!”

Roland waves as the light changes and he punches the gas. David rolls up his window, sitting at the green light because no one’s behind him, and looks at Patrick for an explanation. 

“It’s the least we can do, David.”

“Oh my God.” He pulls forward. “You can go alone.”

“You’re not bailing on our first New Year’s as a married couple. Besides, we didn’t go last year.”

“Um, that’s because _last_ year,” says David, “I surprised you with a hotel room in Toronto and we drank champagne in a private infinity pool all night..."

“Well. Not all night.”

“Don’t flirt with me. I am _very_ annoyed with you.” He pauses. “That shower was fucking amazing.”

“Great acoustics.”

“Almost too good.”

“Yeah, I scared myself a little--”

David laughs. “Oh my God.” He pulls in the drive, softening at the sight of their house, and glances at Patrick. “Okay. I will stay for _one_ hour. But then we are coming home…” He leans to kiss him. “And doing everything we did last year…”

“I don’t think our shower can handle that,” Patrick murmurs.

“Mhm.” David tugs him closer. “But our bed can…” He pauses. “We _could_ just…” He slides his fingers down Patrick’s chest. “...skip the party…”

“David, I know what you’re doing and it’s not working.” He tilts his head for another, messier kiss. “It’s working a little…”

He breathes in, nose brushing David’s, then chuckles and kisses him hard. David would smirk if he could. _Got him._

They kiss for a moment, forgetting the snow and the idling car, ignoring their promise to show up with booze and snacks...their hands start to stray, mouths open and impatient, and David’s _just_ nipped Patrick’s neck, _just_ unlatched his seatbelt, when someone honks behind them.

They both jump. David glances in the rearview and sees Stevie’s old hatchback in the street. 

“God, are you fucking kidding?”

Patrick blinks, slightly dazed. “Huh?”

David groans as Stevie gets out of her car and walks beside theirs. She motions at him to roll down the window, which is steamy -- an incriminating detail. Of course she won’t be cool about it. 

“So. What are _you_ two up to?”

Patrick falters. “We…”

“I’m trying to fuck Patrick away from the New Year’s party.”

Patrick nods. “Yep. That.”

Stevie pops her brows. “Wow. Well, I’m not going without you two. Last year, everyone got wasted and Roland and Jocelyn acted out _Julie and Julia_. They knew every word. We were there until four in the morning.”

“And you think we can prevent that?” asks David.

“No. But you can suffer with me.” 

“Who played who?” asks Patrick.

“Oh, Roland played Julie, which was as disturbing as it sounds.”

David looks at Patrick. “Do you still want to give them all of our imported champagne?”

“No, but…”

“I’m going to need something stronger than champagne,” says Stevie, adding, “and I need to heat this up in your oven because mine broke.” 

She holds up a dish of seven-layer dip and gives it a jazzy shake. 

“Okay, we _just_ got home, I haven’t even given Patrick his gift--”

“Looks like you were about to.”

David simpers and throws his door open, making her jump aside. She scoffs, cradling her casserole dish.

“Don’t take it out on me.”

“Oh, I’m going to, and if we’re there past one, I’ll murder you.”

Patrick gets out of the car, pausing to get their bags, and David presses closer to Stevie as they approach the front door. 

“So, he doesn’t know about the...”

“I know, David.”

“So don’t let him go into the basement.”

“I’m not going to!”

David may have downplayed his gift, but he’s actually proud of it -- and nervous. He doesn’t want to reveal it until the perfect moment, which is decidedly not now.

He unlocks the door and they all push inside, greedy for warmth. Patrick goes upstairs with their luggage, Stevie puts her casserole in the oven, and David swaps his clothes and contacts. When he returns, she looks at him with a smirk and takes something out of her top pocket.

“Would this help you get through the night?”

He grabs the joint and reaches into the nearest drawer for a lighter. “Yes, yes it would…”

She leans on the counter, amused. “How was Christmas?”

He lights the joint, musing over an accurate description. “Remember when I tried to get in shape and I went to the gym three days in a row?”

“I do,” says Stevie, nodding solemnly. 

“So it was that, except I was drinking straight whiskey instead of water.” 

“Sounds relaxing,” she says, taking the joint.

“Mhm, it wasn’t.” He glances at her and can’t hold back a tiny grin. “It was the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

She grins too, uncharacteristically warm. “Thought it might be.”

He takes the joint back and they look up as Patrick returns. He looks at them like a tired dad.

“I’m not watching Meryl Streep reenactments sober,” says David. Then he smiles, offering the joint. “Want to try? I tried new things for you this week.”

“Ew,” Stevie complains.

“He means sledding,” says Patrick, adding as he reaches into the fridge, “I’m good with a beer, thanks.”

David tips his head back and blows out a stream of smoke. “Boo.”

“David, the last time I was high, I called my doctor and asked him if he was really a doctor. And you didn’t stop me.”

Stevie pops her brows, laughing. “What? When was this?”

“When he dislocated his knee last fall,” says David, raising his brows. “He had never tried Oxy before and he left this rambling voicemail about his PT’s credentials. _My knee doesn’t feel any better. Are you any good at your job? Where did you go to medical school?_ _Are you actually a veterinarian?"_

Patrick rubs his face, still embarrassed, and Stevie shakes her head in amazement. Then Patrick uncaps his beer and David sidles closer to put an arm around him. 

“You just watched?” Stevie asks.

“Um, that was pure karma,” says David.

“Right,” says Patrick. “What the strongest marriages are built on.”

David grins and turns to pour a glass of wine. 

They linger in the kitchen for the next half hour, taunting each other and sipping their drinks. David would rather stay here, in his tiny kitchen with his two favorite people, but the oven timer rings and sends them into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when I write fic after one glass of champagne

The three of them grumble and stumble into jackets, then walk to the apothecary for a case of French champagne and a cheeseboard. 

David can feel how tired he is -- he drove 6 hours in the snow after a week of Brewer-style hearty-partying -- but Patrick’s eyes are bright with excitement. He wants to sleep, but he wants to spend the last day of the year with his husband a little bit more. A lot more. So much more that he’s excited too. 

They walk into Twyla’s Café Tropical, which is dimly lit, strung with blue and purple bulbs. The music is sultry and the tables have been covered with white linen and glittering candles. The bar is lined with sophisticated drinks and strung with diamond-studded lights. David’s buzzed, but even if he wasn’t, he’d admit the café looks damn elegant. 

Half the town is here, including the Schitts, Ronnie, Bob, Ray, and Twyla, who’s wearing a silvery dress David swears he recognizes. He nudges Patrick, about to express his approval, but he stops, staring at the back of a woman’s head.

He knows those beach curls and he knows that spiraling laugh. 

“Oh my Go--” He breaks away from Patrick to rush forward. “Oh my God!”

Alexis turns at his voice. The sight of her hits him like a punch and he laughs, overwhelmed, almost crying. She squeals, throwing her arms around him, and hugs him hard.

“Hi! Um -- surprise! Happy New Year!”

He hugs her closer, swaying, laughing. “Hi! What happened to your party in New York?”

“That was a decoy,” she says, grinning as she pulls back. She wipes a tear from under one eye, careful not to disturb her mascara. “I tried to bring mom and dad but there was some conflict with Tippy.” 

David shakes his head to show he doesn’t mind, then wrinkles his nose and gestures around the cafe. “I was wondering why this looked so nice…”

She laughs and nods. “I helped Twy out a little bit.”

“And lent her your dress,” says David. 

Alexis shimmies, blushing, and pokes him in the chest. “So? We’re the same size. And I _might_ be crashing at her place.”

“Mhm, instead of your brother’s new house, with a guest room?”

“Yes,” says Alexis, nodding, evading. She shifts to hug Patrick, comically taller as usual, and grins over his shoulder. “Hi, how’s your family?”

“Great, thanks,” he says with a smile. 

“Did you know about this?” David asks him and he shakes his head.

Stevie joins them, finally relieved of the champagne. “I did. The seven-layer dip was a ruse. My oven didn’t break. I just had to make sure you _actually_ got here tonight. Which they almost didn’t,” she adds to Alexis.

Alexis rolls her eyes and grabs David’s arm. “ _So_...let me show you around…”

“I’ve been here before,” he says. “A few times, actually--”

She tugs him after her -- she’s stronger than she looks and he makes a face at Patrick, taking his hand and tangling their fingers to pull him along. Patrick chuckles and Alexis pauses at the bar, presenting the drinks.

“We have cranberry-ginger margaritas, coquitos, pineapple twists, and these sparkling bellinis. Twy found this edible glitter so they look like they have gold dust. So cute.” 

Twyla turns, concerned. “Oh, I never said it was edible...”

Alexis takes back the bellini David just grabbed. She sets it aside as if it's explosive. “Okay, do not drink that…” 

“I always like the classic,” says Twyla with a shrug, taking a bottle of champagne from the case they brought. “This was so nice of you guys!”

David forces a smile and nods as she pops the cork. She pours everyone a glass and Alexis sidles in to take hers. She clicks her glass on Twyla’s and they both drink. Then Alexis eyes David, impressed, and points at her glass.

“This is amazing.”

He nods, pained. “Yes. I know.”

Patrick puts an arm around him, patting his side. “David’s just too generous.”

David tips his head back, annoyed, then drinks some champagne. He looks at Patrick, softening a bit. “Okay, _that’s_ delicious…” 

Patrick nods in agreement, touching his glass to David’s, then stretches to kiss him. David smiles on his lips, pulling away just a touch, just enough to glance into his eyes. Then Stevie jostles them, reaching for a margarita, and pops an olive into her mouth from the nearest charcuterie board. 

David huffs at her.

“Can you stare into each other’s eyes somewhere else?”

“No, Stevie, we can’t.”

“Okay,” Alexis says excitedly. “Let me show you the VIP room…” She raises her brows and sets her glass down, then twitches her fingers at them all and swishes behind the counter. “Just back here…”

David’s never seen her go behind the counter. He didn’t think she knew the café layout well enough to guide a tour.

“This,” she says, gesturing with her fingers in two ‘perfect’ symbols, “was inspired by the sweetest little club we found in the East Village...but I adapted the lighting because that was _not_ cute…”

She walks them through the empty kitchen and into the supply closet, which she’s transformed into a tiny dance hall, complete with pulsing lights, a minibar, and a DJ -- well, if Bob’s weird nephew can be called a DJ. 

“So,” says Alexis, “consider _that_ part of the cafe family-friendly…” She points behind them. “And this part of the cafe…” She tilts her shoulders. “A little...” She smirks. “Racier.”

David presses his lips together as he listens to the bass-heavy beats in the background. “This is bringing up a mixed bag of memories. “Oh, for me too,” says Alexis seriously. 

Twyla joins them and puts her arm around Alexis. David squints.

“Um--”

“Oh!” Alexis interrupts. “There’s one more thing…” She grabs David’s arms and tugs him back into the kitchen, then throws open an industrial-sized fridge. “Okay. We couldn’t make enough for everyone…” She takes out a tray of bright red and green jello shots. “So we made some just for us. Lime and cherry, with vodka…”

Patrick grins, reaching for one, and David rolls his eyes with a slight smile. 

“Okay,” he says, taking one. “As long as you don’t kiss Patrick this time...”

Alexis smacks his arm. “Ew, David! As long as you don’t kiss Twy!”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says with a frown, then takes the shot. He smirks around it. “Mhm, oh my God…”

Patrick takes his and reaches for two more. 

“So we’re going to get very drunk,” says David, gesturing at these. 

“Just drunk enough to make use of that VIP room,” says Patrick.

Alexis passes out more shots and David takes another one, loose, smiling. Patrick tips this one back for him, fingers brushing his lips, and he takes a breath to steady himself. He shouldn’t have kissed Patrick like that earlier -- it started an undeniable chain reaction and now he needs an empty room and an uninterrupted hour. Preferably two.

“David?” asks Patrick, knowing and amused.

David sucks the shot into his mouth, refusing to acknowledge his husband’s smirk, and pushes him toward the tray for two more, bossy.

“These are _really_ good,” Twyla mumbles at Alexis, flicking her empty shot glass. “You weren’t lying.”

“Right? Like, so high school, but worth it.”

Twyla nods and Alexis chuckles, reaching to thumb a stray drop off her lips. Twyla blushes and laughs, catching Alexis’ wrist, and they giggle together. David’s starting to think he missed a major development in his sister’s life, but before he can speak, Jocelyn hollers something about charades.

Twyla gestures as if lassoing them all. “Okay! We’re a team. Whatever you do, don’t do movies -- Jocelyn _always_ gets them.” 

Alexis nods, stretching over the nearest table for a pad of paper and several pens. She hands the paper to David and adjusts her curls under her 2021 tiara.

Twyla turns, pulling Alexis with her, and they all emerge past the counter. David nabs a glass of champagne, bumping Patrick, and kisses his temple. Patrick chuckles, holding David back for a real kiss. 

“No, go,” says David, laughing, smacking his ass with the paper.

“Aw,” says Patrick, disappointed.

David shakes his head, grinning, and takes Patrick’s shoulders to guide him toward the charades circle that’s forming between booths. He drinks his champagne, then hugs his husband from behind, swaying, messy and tender; he drapes his arm over Patrick’s chest, leaning on him, and kisses his shoulder.

Patrick glances back, then kisses his wrist. They both smile.

Alexis grabs the paper from David and huddles over it with Twyla, suggesting ideas as Stevie writes them out. David watches Jocelyn, Roland, Bob, and Ronnie do the same, snickering and elbowing each other. The teams exchange baskets and the moderator -- Ray -- brandishes a stopwatch. 

“Who goes first?” asks Twyla, beaming. 

“Brewer!” yells Ronnie, twirling a coin in her fingers. “Heads or tails?”

“Heads,” he says, pressing into David, bracing. 

Ronnie flips the coin, swears, and waves him off. “Go on.”

David hugs Patrick closer, kissing him behind his ear, and Patrick elbows him away with a laugh. He reaches into the other teams’ basket and hides the slip of paper from the others. Then he steps away from the group and starts to jump up and down.

“Trampoline!” calls Alexis.

“Bouncy house!” adds Twyla.

David sits in the nearest booth. He’s seen Patrick jump rope too many times. Thank you, spring training.

“Jumping rope,” he says. 

Patrick nods at him, discarding the paper, and Twyla cheers. Patrick joins David in the booth, sitting on his lap.

“Is this fair?” he jokes. “We’re married. We’re basically telepathic.”

“I’ve lost charades to these clowns too many times,” David murmurs, holding him closer. “So yes, it’s fair.”

Patrick chuckles at his dangerous tone, leaning to touch his nose to his temple. David smiles at this, turning to kiss his jaw, and they wait as Jocelyn starts to act something out. The music swells in the background, swingy jazz, and Jocelyn stoops into a questionable yoga pose. 

“Down-dog!” yells Roland.

Bob works through the pose, squinting. Then he gasps. “Warrior!”

Jocelyn taps on her nose, then holds up three fingers.

“Atilla the Hun,” mutters Stevie.

“Mulan!” shouts Bob.

Jocelyn emphasizes that she’s holding up _three_ fingers.

“Bruce Lee!” says Roland.

Jocelyn sighs, changing her approach, and imitates the Hulk. Time runs out and she flutters the paper in her hand. “Attila the Hun!”

A chorus of _ohs_. Stevie drinks, tipping her head at David. He shakes his head, finishing his champagne, and Alexis gets up to grab a slip of paper. She nods and smooths the skirt of her rose-gold dress, then poses like Wonder Woman. Twyla points, grinning.

“Diana Prince!”

Alexis beams and nods, drifting to kiss her forehead. She offers the basket to David, who gestures with the paper, expecting her to understand that his husband’s on his lap and he can’t move. But Patrick doesn’t indulge him. He shifts to the empty seat and nudges David to his feet.

David eyes him, then looks at the paper. He almost laughs, but catches it so he doesn’t tip anyone off. Then he rolls his eyes and imitates using a hose. Patrick leans forward, studying him. He huffs and gestures at a tea candle like it’s a dangerous blaze, putting his hand over his mouth like a respirator.

“Fireman!” yells Twyla.

He nods, sitting back down, and looks at his husband. “You should have gotten that. You like firemen--”

Patrick smirks. “Well, I like you as one…”

He chuckles and drifts into a kiss; he catches himself before sliding his hand up Patrick’s leg. He’s too tipsy to be in public, that’s clear. He keeps his eyes on Patrick for the rest of the game, gaze heavy, unapologetically in love. Stevie makes a face at him and he flips her off, tucking against Patrick, sleepy and drunk and drifting. He’d be happy to die right here, right now, but the Schitts ruin his reverie by shouting and shoving Ronnie forward.

She’s the last one to play for the other team, and Patrick’s the last one to play for theirs. David smiles, nudging him away from the booth, and squeezes his ass for good luck. He turns, almost laughing.

“Gonna have to tie your hands behind your back.”

“Oh, please do.”

“David.”

“Ew, David.”

“David!"

Ronnie’s turn passes in a blur -- Joceyln gets it immediately, _Shawshank Redemption!_ \-- and Patrick plucks a clue out of the basket. He presses his lips together, amused, then cranks his arm like he’s rolling an old-fashioned movie. Everyone nods, watching closely, and he twitches two fingers at David.

David hesitates, then gets up, joining him. “Not sure you’re allowed to--”

“Get a move on!” shouts Ronnie.

“Just run at me,” Patrick says.

David laughs. “What?”

Ronnie gestures at her watch. “Let’s go!”

David frowns, amused and intrigued, then steps back. Patrick nods at him and he runs a few steps, sure he’ll collide with his husband, totally clueless what the paper prompted -- then Patrick lifts him up, Dirty Dancing style. It’s not effortless and it’s not pretty, but he absolutely beams, trying to outstretch his arms. He laughs loudly as they collapse against the nearest booth.

“I got it!” Roland points. “Footloose!”

Patrick sets David down. David kisses him then announces the correct answer, flushed and tingling.

Ronnie sighs. “So is this a tie or…?”

“Tiebreaker!” yells Joceyln, dumping the baskets together. 

David thumbs down Patrick’s wrist, then takes his hand and tugs him toward the kitchen. He doesn’t complain, apparently willing to miss the epic end of Schitt’s Creek charades, and they slip into the VIP room. It’s empty -- thank God -- and their lips collide, keen and greedy; they press together, laughing, grabby. They both moan as the kiss deepens.

“I can’t believe you did that…”

Patrick chuckles. “That I can do that or that I did…?”

“Both, yes, Jesus…” 

He doesn’t mean to slam Patrick against the wall as hard as he does, but Patrick doesn’t seem to mind. He grabs him closer, hands slipping under the edge of his shirt. He’d drop to his knees right now if they weren’t in this fucking café…

“David--”

He breathes in, pulling back. The music shifts to a Donna Summer remix and he laughs, brushing his nose on Patrick’s; he lets his hands drop from their impatient position on his belt. 

“What’s with you tonight?” 

David shakes his head, lost in him, and dips his face against Patrick’s neck. He kisses him here, leaning into him, then chuckles. Patrick does too, nosing the side of his head, and they kiss again, softer, slower. They drift along the wall and bump into the drink table.

David looks at Bob’s weird nephew. “Can you play something slower?”

The nephew rolls his eyes and slicks his bleach-blond hair back. “How’s this?” He taps a button and the song changes to an uptempo EDM hit. “Good? Great. I’m getting a drink.”

“Are you 21?” asks Patrick.

“Who the fuck cares,” says David, adding to the kid, “if you don’t come back for twenty minutes, I’ll give you ten dollars.”

“Awesome,” he says boredly.

Patrick watches him leave. “Are we supporting underage drinking?”

“Please shut up and kiss me--”

“Because as a city counselor--”

David kisses him.

“--I really can’t condone--”

David undoes the first button of his shirt.

“--really irresponsible--”

David grabs his throat to pull him closer.

“Oh-okay--”

They kiss deeply, disheveled and dirty, and grip each other closer as they lose the room, the music; David falters -- this is the kind of kiss they share in the middle of making love, hypnotized and strangled for air -- but they’re in a supply closet, lights spilling over them as the music spirals up, as their friends laugh in the other room. He inhales hard, then tips his head back, laughing as Patrick pulls his hands from his pecs to his hips to his ass -- God it would be easy to blow him right here--

The music is intoxicating, echoing. David pushes Patrick against the wall, lights dancing on his eyelids, and they kiss like they’re strangers in a club. 

“Let’s -- the store’s next door, let’s just--”

David nods. “Yes, _yes…_ ”

Patrick takes his hands, then peeks out of the supply closet, checking they’re alone. David holds his breath, listening to the animated conversation in the next room, then dashes with Patrick to the back door. They slip into the snow, across the street, and into their store. 

They drift into the back room, kissing and laughing. The music is so loud they can hear it from here, over the storm.

“Fuck, just wanna fuck you--”

“David...”

They stumble over a box and against a shelf of new inventory. Patrick kisses David under his jaw, smiling, then sinks to his knees.

“Oh--”

David meant to do this, but Patrick beat him to it. He takes a needy breath as Patrick unzips his pants.

“Okay...” He closes his eyes, almost dizzy, and breathes out. “Oh my God...” Then he breathes in hard, fingers twitching on the shelf as Patrick sinks over him. “Oh my God, _fuck…_ ”

Patrick folds closer, hands on the backs of David’s thighs. David raises his brows, surprised, open-mouthed, and huffs a breath.

“Oh my God--”

Patrick groans around him, pulling up, tongue trailing over a vein on the side of his cock. David inhales, gripping the shelf, and almost laughs; this was unexpected, but he’s not complaining. God, he’s not complaining…

“Mhm…” 

Patrick pauses to laugh, kissing him under his hip, then takes his length in his mouth again, gentle, practiced.

“What?” asks David, one hand drifting to tangle in Patrick’s hair.

“Nothing, just…” He laughs again. “What are we doing?”

“Nothing we haven’t done before,” David quips.

His laugh lingers and he shakes his head, kissing his inner thigh. “Yeah, at least we aren’t open…”

David grins and leans his head on the wall; he loves how Patrick talks to him, talks through this. Before, he’d consider talking an interruption, but he loves talking to him while they’re together; loves tripping on laughter and hearing his own voice echo in the room, thrilled and undisguised. 

His fingers clench as Patrick takes him into his mouth again. He moans, very soft, and Patrick does too; his eyes jump under his lids and he opens his mouth, stunned, trying not to rock his hips -- but they jolt forward as Patrick shifts to suck on one of his balls. He yanks him closer by his hair and lets out a little yelpy groan, breathing in; then he laughs, moaning his husband's name, and Patrick licks up the underside of his cock and kisses the head of it...Jesus, too sweet, too much at once...he exhales and the woosh of breath almost takes David over the edge.

David doesn’t know how he’s this close this fast. His hand fumbles over the shelf and knocks something over. It breaks, he doesn’t care, he’s almost there and Patrick is teasing him, pulling back, tongue softer, hands harder.

“I love you,” he mumbles on instinct.

Patrick bites the skin between his cock and his hip. “I love you too...” He tilts his head and sinks over him again; David twitches, a million affirmations on the tip of his tongue, _God I love you, I want you, God yes--_

“Patrick, fuck, _fuck…_ ”

Patrick hums around him and the vibration almost knocks him out. 

“MmGodyes,” he whines, hand in his hair again.

Patrick knocks him against the wall, sinking deeper, and something else clatters off the shelf. David groans, coming in Patrick’s mouth, and Patrick pulls back a second before he should; cum splashes on his chin and David laughs, apologizing, steadying him as he stands up. He blushes and David licks the messy stripe off his chin, then tilts into a heady kiss. The clock chimes midnight and they laugh together. 

“Happy New Year…”

David stares at him, dazed, then laughs harder. “Mhm, my God, Happy New Year…”

“What did you break?”

“Um, I think technically _you_ broke it because--”

“No, that was all you, David.”

David raises his brows. “You could have picked a better spot…” He leans to look, wrinkles his nose, and nods in resignation. “Bath oil.”

“Oh, yikes,” says Patrick, jumping away from him to grab a towel. 

David gestures at this; he’s still fuzzy and come-dumb, definitely in no position to clean up an oil spill--

Patrick throws a towel at him. “Get it together, David.”

He blinks. “Um. You’re killing the moment.”

“The moment’s over,” says Patrick, joining him with another towel.

“Well _now_ it is…” says David, rolling his eyes and zipping his pants. He folds his arms, surveying the spill. “Mhm. How do we write this one off?”

“I don’t think we get to write off products _we_ damage, David.”

“Mhm. So there’s no...special subsection in Schedule C for damages incurred because of a blowjob…?”

“Oh, there is, we just have to file a 1090 and describe exactly what happened.”

David nods. “Mhm. Blow-by-blow.”

Patrick dips his head down, laughing. “Yeah, David, exactly...”

David snorts, kneeling to help with the spill. 

This takes more time than he anticipated -- the oil spread everywhere and soaked into the vintage carpet, staining it forever. It seeped toward the bathroom, into a new box of candles, and saturated their shoes.

Ten towels and fifteen minutes later, Patrick stands up, wiping his brow. “Could you have knocked over anything worse?”

“ _You_ pushed me into that shelf…”

Patrick nods, surveying the damage. “Think we can save the rug?”

“Mm, no,” says David, still on his knees. “But while I’m down here…” He tugs Patrick a little closer, nuzzling his crotch. “I might as well…” He tilts his head. “Have some fun...”

Patrick laughs. “David.”

“Oh, I’m not kidding,” says David, looking at him, expertly popping the button of his jeans.

Patrick’s expression transforms from playful to needy and he raises his brows, breath catching. David smirks. 


	3. Chapter 3

They leave their store twenty minutes later, holding hands, slipping in the snow as they cross the street. David’s giggly, drunk on champagne, on his husband’s taste. Patrick is conspicuously dazed, hanging on David, chuckling and mumbling affirmations about how good he is.

“Okay, okay, we…” David breathes out hard. “We can’t look like this when we go in.”

“They'll just think we’re drunk…”

“No, no, we look…” David laughs and fans himself. “Okay. Focus.”

Patrick nods. He puts on a deadly serious expression, too earnest, then hunches forward, laughing at himself. David gasps for air.

“Okay, we can do this...we just….”

“Had a store emergency.”

“Yes. At one in the morning on New Year’s.”

“Yes,” agrees Patrick, squeezing his hand.

They return to the cafe, both smelling strongly of Tahitian gardenia, and slip in through the back door. They try to sneak back to the VIP room and pretend nothing happened, but Stevie, Alexis, and Twyla are all in the kitchen, partaking in more jello shots.

They turn as David and Patrick step inside. Stevie raises her brows, smirking, and David braces for her inevitable harassment. 

“You missed the ball drop,” she says.

“Yes, ugh David!” Alexis complains. “I flew all the way here from New York and you’re--” She stops, sniffing. “What is that?”

“It's, um, it’s Tahitian gardenia,” David says delicately. “We had an…”

“Inventory emergency,” says Patrick.

Stevie nods. “Ah.”

“With the bath oils,” David adds, nodding as he reaches for a glass of champagne. “Unavoidable.” 

Patrick nods too. “Pretty messy.”

Alexis blinks at them, then says, “Did you two sneak off to have sex?”

Patrick scoffs. “No. No, we would never...abandon our friends like that…”

David sips his champagne. “Mhm, this was strictly business.”

“Well, is everything okay?” asks Twyla, genuinely concerned. “One time, I had to come to the cafe in the middle of the night because squirrels got into the pantry..."

“Everything’s fine, yes, we’re just…”

“Responsible business owners,” says Patrick.

David nods. “Very responsible.”

Stevie shakes her head, overly sincere, and looks at Patrick. “Don’t you just hate when inventory emergencies give you a hickey?”

Alexis groans. “Ew, David! You don’t see _me_ sneaking off--”

He gestures in annoyance. “With who?! And that...that is not a hickey...it’s an allergic reaction to the bath oil!”

Patrick nods. “Yes.”

“Is that why you missed your top button?” Stevie asks him.

“Okay, Sherlock,” snaps David, taking Patrick’s shoulders to guide him out of the kitchen. “We’ll be enjoying some appetizers!”

Bob’s weird nephew returns with a beer and holds his hand out at David. 

“What do you want?” asks David, aggravated.

“My money? You said if I left you alone for twenty minutes you’d give me ten bucks. And that was more like an hour.”

Stevie snorts in the background, delighted. 

“Okay. How about I don’t give you ten dollars but I don’t tell your parents you stole a beer?”

“Whatever,” he says, shaking his head and returning to his post in the VIP room. 

Stevie frowns at David, pretending to be confused. “But why...why did you need twenty minutes alone--”

“Okay,” David says. “You should be very grateful we _did_ sneak out and did not do what we did in our store in that VIP room, so you’re welcome!”

She opens her mouth. “Wow--”

“Fuck off!”

Patrick leans back as David pulls him out of the kitchen. “Oil on a dance floor _is_ a safety hazard--”

“Oh my God,” Stevie laughs. 

“Eugh!” Alexis sighs and drinks some champagne, then nudges Twyla. “Let’s dance, I need to wash all of this off of me…”

David huffs. “Okay, it’s a blowjob, not a bug you just stepped on, so please drop your little miss priss act--”

She jumps back. “Um. Why did you need bath oil for that?”

“Okay, we didn’t _need_ bath oil, I just --”

“David. I really don’t think they need an explanation.”

“No, we do,” says Stevie. 

“Kiss my ass,” David replies, very soft. 

She lifts her glass to her mouth with her middle finger extended. He rolls his eyes, continuing past the counter with Patrick, and stops by the appetizer table. He’s just selected a mozzarella stick when Roland and Jocelyn appear.

“Oh, there you boys are!” says Jocelyn, carrying Roland Jr. “We were wondering! You missed the end of charades!”

David wrinkles his nose and nods. “Too bad. Who won?”

“Well, at the last second, Bob clinched it with this pitch-perfect performance of Paris Hilton--”

“So sorry we missed that…”

“David, be nice,” murmurs Patrick, adding, “Great party so far.”

Jocelyn beams. “Oh, you should thank Alexis -- she and Twyla worked all day to set this up.” She shakes her head. “So sweet of them.”

David grumbles; he feels a bit bad for ignoring his only sister, but not that bad -- sneaking out with Patrick was exhilarating, certainly worth skipping the midnight revelry for, and he’d do it again in a second. Actually, he wishes they _could_ do it again...if only they could escape without notice; maybe he could feign an illness, or convince Patrick to fake some family emergency-- 

“David. _David_.”

“Mh-huh?”

Jocelyn laughs. “Wow, earth to David! I was just asking if you’ve tried the tater tot bombs. Twyla thought they were overkill, but Rollie and I _really_ love them…I think it’s the mayonnaise that does it.”

“Mhm, delicious,” he says absently, tugging Patrick past the counter.

“Oh, give it up, Joc,” sighs Roland. “They’re distracted…”

“Well, I remember what it was like when _we_ were first married,” she says, patting his arm.

David turns. “Weren’t you eight-months pregnant?” 

“That didn’t stop us,” chortles Roland.

David gestures very softly, closing his eyes to erase this image. “Ew.”

“Say what you will,” Roland replies, unconcerned. “But let me tell you--”

“Nope. No, please do not tell me anything else.”

Twyla and Alexis reappear, both smiling. Alexis has a box in her arms. 

“Okay!” Alexis says. “We’re going to play _Highlights of the Year_. I wanted to play _Never Have I Ever,_ but Twy reminded me that did _not_ go super well last time.”

“What the fuck is _Highlights of the Year_?”

“It’s super fun,” says Twyla. “My family always played this on New Year’s but instead of highlights, we did _low_ lights, because there weren’t a lot of good times.”

“That’s very dark,” says David.

“So, you draw a card and you have to talk about whatever it says,” Alexis explains. “We’ve all had a good year, so…”

Patrick shrugs. “Sounds fun.”

David glances at the clock and raises his brows. “Not a minute past two…”

Patrick nods, rubbing his back, and shifts to get them two plates of appetizers. David grabs more champagne, then follows the others to a table in the back of the cafe. Ronnie, Stevie, and Ray are already seated, drinking beer. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Ronnie says as Alexis sets the box on the table.

David and Patrick each take a seat. David looks warily at the box, sipping his champagne, and then his phone rings. He glances at it -- it’s his mom on Facetime -- and he shows the others the display with a slight smile.

“Ooh, answer it!” says Twyla. “Let’s all say Happy New Year, okay? On three--”

David picks up and the others chorus a jumbled blend of _Happy New Year,_ _Happy Birthday_ , and _wait, who is it?_ Moira squawks in delight and Johnny appears beside her, waving. He’s wearing a green Santa hat and joke glasses, which indicates they’re well into their third bottle of Prosecco. 

“Oh, don’t you all look so dashing!” says Moira. “Hello everyone! Hello! It’s still 2020 in Los Angeles!”

“Mhm, seems you’re really easing into the night...”

“Hey, son! How was the drive back? Encounter any moose?”

“Um, thankfully no, it was very long and somehow Patrick convinced me to come here instead of going to sleep...”

Patrick leans over. “Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Rose.”

Moira reaches to boop him through the phone. “Well hello, Mr. and Mr. Rose!” She frowns when her finger touches the screen. “John. John, what did I do, I can’t hear them now...”

“Let me see, honey…”

Alexis rolls her eyes. “You hit mute!”

“They can’t hear you!” shouts David, miming at his mother to unmute. 

His mother raises her brows and touches the screen again. “Ah! Oh, thank you, David...Alexis, hello Alexis! It was so generous of you to visit for Christmas…” 

“We would have liked you here, honey!” adds Johnny. “But we understand!”

“I invited you!” Alexis calls. 

“Oh, dear Alexis,” says Moira, clicking her tongue. “We would have come, but Tippy sent me his revisions for episode fifteen…”

“And?” she asks.

“Well, it seems that Vivien had a past, passionate affair with a vampire...and that she hid her provocative, vampiric ways through these many decades...I’ve never played a vampire before, Alexis, and the supernatural dance intensive has me absolutely incapacitated!”

“Wow Mrs. Rose!” gasps Twyla. “That backstory sounds amazing!”

“It is,” says Johnny, opening a bottle of wine in the background.

David presses his lips together, affectionate. “Are you two celebrating alone at home?”

“I’m afraid our carousing days may be over!” says Moira. “Your father hurt his back again, poor thing…”

“I didn’t hurt my back, Moira, it’s…” Johnny pauses, fiddling with the wine. “When did they start making these so hard to open?”

Moira rolls her eyes. “Run it under hot water, John!”

David glances at Patrick. “If we’re like this when we’re 65...”

“We’re already like that, David,” says Patrick, popping a piece of coconut shrimp into his mouth.

David eyes him, but before he can reply, Twyla leans in and says, “We’re playing a game, you can join us!”

“Yes, John! Yes, let’s…” Moira fumbles the phone and sets it down, giving them all a view of the ceiling fan. “John, just put the wine down…"

Johnny laughs victoriously. “There we go!”

“No, John!” sighs Moira. “No, you pushed the cork into the bottle!”

“Well, what else could I do, Moira?”

“Oh, John…”

David waits, still looking at the ceiling fan. He glances at Patrick, who’s chuckling.

“Really?” he whispers. “We’re already like this?”

“What are you mumbling about, David?” Moira calls. “Are you being nice to your dear sweet Pat? You remember what I told you, David! We’re the rum and they’re the eggnog!”

David squints. “What?” 

“She means Johnny and I mellow you two out,” says Patrick.

“Okay, I am not _rum_ , rum is disgusting--” 

“What are you, then?” asks Patrick.

David finishes his champagne. “I don’t know. You’re the one who knows what I taste like.”

“David, we’re on a family phone call right now.”

“What was that?” calls Moira. “Oh, John, look at this wine! It has cork! Little bits of cork! Who are we, the Waltons?”

“Relax, Moira, it’s just some cork! The wine tastes just fine--”

“Oh God, John, is this what we’ve stooped to--”

David rolls his eyes and steals a bruschetta off Patrick’s plate. Patrick raises his brows at him and David smiles around the bruschetta, unapologetic.

“Okay, as fun as it is to hear your parents melt down over wine,” says Stevie. “It’s one-thirty, I am tired, and we haven’t even started the game…”

“Mhm, Happy New Year!” David says to his parents. “We’re hanging up on you because you’ve spent this entire phone call arguing about wine.”

“We love you!” yells Moira, adding to Johnny, “No John, no, a strainer for _tea_ , these holes are too big!”

“My God,” says David, ending the call.

“Aw,” says Twyla. “I thought they were going to play!”

“They are _very_ drunk and you do not want to give my father an opportunity to start telling stories,” says David. “We will be here until seven in the morning.”

Twyla sighs. “I love his stories!”

“Okay!” says Alexis, shaking the box of game prompts. “Is everyone ready? Does everyone have a drink? Snacks? Yes? Great! So Twy...why don’t you start…”

Twyla grins over a sip of champagne and reaches into the box. 

“Ooh! What was your favorite song of the year? My favorite song? Oh boy…” She leans her head back, reminiscing. “Oh, I loved the one that goes…” She moves her hand through the air, singing, “ _Did a full 180, crazy..._ ”

“Oh, yes!” says Jocelyn, continuing the melody with little dit’s and do’s because she doesn’t know the words. “My favorite song was probably...oh, what would you say, Rollie?”

Rollie picks something out of his teeth. “That señorita song. We made a lot of use of that one...”

She smacks him, laughing. “Rollie! 

David looks at Patrick. “Tell me he wasn’t implying what I think he was.”

“Oh, he was.”

“The beat is so groovy!” Jocelyn raves. 

“And the tempo is _just_ right,” says Roland. “If you know what I mean.”

David makes a face. “Oh my God.”

“We like to pick Canadians for that playlist,” Roland adds. “So we’ve got some Bieber, some Bublé…”

David squints. “So you...you have options like k.d. Lang and the Weeknd and you picked...those?”

“Not everyone has a _stylish_ sex playlist, David,” says Roland, forming air quotes. “I don’t know what you and your husband do, but for us, it’s about _heart_.”

David gestures in annoyance, about to retort. 

Patrick squeezes his leg to forestall a comment. “What was your favorite song, David?”

“Um, I’m offended that Roland judged our sex playlist without ever hearing it...”

“Do you _want_ him to hear it?”

“Um, now I do, to clear my name--”

“Not happening, David. I’d say my favorite song this year was...maybe _Marjorie._ Or _Authors of Forever_.”

David softens, watching his husband. They danced to that song in their kitchen after they unpacked their last box, a few days after their wedding; it was raining, the electricity was out, and they slowly swayed, holding each other until three in the morning.

He smiles. “My favorite song is the one your family played for us.”

Patrick squeezes his hand, softly smiling, and leans to kiss him. They continue to chat about songs until Alexis pulls a new slip from the box on the table.

“Ooh, this is a good one. What's one day you would relive over and over from last year?”

“Our wedding--”

“Wedding--”

David and Patrick’s voices overlap and they laugh, glancing into each other’s eyes. They move a bit closer in the booth.

Stevie tips back the last of her champagne. “David, that day was _objectively_ crappy before the actual ceremony.”

“Maybe for you,” says David, sipping his drink. 

“You do realize Patrick and I ran around in the rain for six hours while you slept in, got high, and got off?”

“I realize that, yes,” he says, nodding.

“I would relive the opening night of Cab,” says Alexis. Then she smirks, looking at Twyla. “Okay, and that last night in New York...at that club...”

Twyla blushes. “Alexis…”

“I’d relive our last game,” says Ronnie, snorting. “What I wouldn’t give to watch Brewer wipe out like that again.”

“I dislocated my knee, but I’m glad you got a kick out of it.”

“Oh, more than a kick,” says Ronnie. “Not sure what was better -- you falling, David trying to carry you off the field, or Stevie arguing with the paramedics.” She shakes her head and slaps her leg. “What a shitshow...”

“That was actually very scary,” says David.

Ronnie chuckles. “He was crying like a baby.”

David nods. “Mhm. That was because of the pain.”

“Still,” says Ronnie, finishing her beer. “A grown man sobbing on a field. Should have taken a picture.”

“Okay, _sobbing_ is a bit strong,” says David.

“I remember that very clearly!” says Ray. “Sobbing is accurate!”

Patrick shakes his head, amused in retrospect, and finishes his champagne. 

“Twyla was crying too,” adds Ronnie. “Half your team was. And you know what the cherry on top was?”

“That we lost?” asks Patrick, folding his arms. 

She snorts. “No. Your eyeblack started running!” She hoots. “You looked like Marilyn Manson--”

“Okay,” says David, putting a protective arm around his husband. “ _This_ has run its course.”

“Yes, agreed,” says Alexis, shaking the box at Ronnie so she takes a slip of paper.

She grumps. “Best piece of advice you received in 2020. Well, my cousin told me to stop reading the news. That was pretty sound advice.”

“I told David the same thing,” says Patrick. 

“I’m sorry that I prefer to keep track of what’s going on in that…'' He gestures to the south. “...that fascisty clusterfuck, considering my whole family moved there.”

“Never been prouder to be a Canadian in my life,” says Ronnie, shaking her head and drinking.

“Um, let’s keep this happy and _fun_!” says Alexis, shimmying as she refills her drink. “The best advice _I_ received was actually from David.”

“I don’t appreciate the way you said _actually_.” 

“ _David_ ,” she goes on, “got a little boozy at his bachelor’s party…we were talking about the Galapagos, and the escape room, and my succulent. And after mom rudely interrupted with a speech...I got up to get another drink and David was still at the bar, and he told me...that maybe I’m not a succulent at all. He said...maybe you’re a glorious elm tree, and you don’t need a bigger pot...maybe you need to find a whole forest…”

“Do not remember that,” David murmurs to Patrick.

“You were pretty trashed,” says Patrick.

David frowns. “Apparently.”

“And suddenly I just knew,” Alexis continues, beaming at David, “I knew I had to go to New York.”

“That is very sweet,” David says, wrinkling his nose. “So I wish I remember saying it.”

She glowers at him and nudges Twyla. “Okay, your turn now that David ruined this moment for me…”

“Well, the best advice I got was from you,” Twyla says with a warm smile. “About spending a little money on things that are extra special. Which is why...the first thing I spent money on...was that trip to see you.”

Alexis’s lips wobble slightly and she sniffles, taking Twyla’s hands. David glances at this, confused, but Roland speaks up. 

“The best advice _I_ got,” he interrupts, eating the last niblet off a rib. “Was from a book. Someone left a book in that portalet down at the creek--”

“God,” says David, shrinking back.

“--so naturally I got to reading, and on the back of this book, it said... _if at first you don’t succeed, don’t try skydiving!_ Ha! Get it? Because--”

“So is that _advice_ or…?” David trails off.

Roland waves him off. “He doesn’t get it.”

David rolls his eyes and finishes his champagne. “The best advice I got was from Stevie when she…” He pauses, unexpectedly choked up. “Um, when she convinced me to stay here. When she told me I won.”

He knows only she and Patrick will understand this, but he doesn’t elaborate. Stevie smiles, nodding hard, and Patrick nuzzles his shoulder. He breathes in, sniffling, and puts an arm around him.

“What about you?” he murmurs at Patrick. 

“What my mom said to me, right before we got married,” he replies, glancing at him before looking down, overwhelmed. He takes a sip of champagne. “I called them about a week before the wedding. And I asked them if they could only say one thing to me, about love -- this kind of love, the...the kind where you...you know you’ll be in love the rest of your life, no matter what…”

David swallows, eyes glassy, and stares at him with a brilliant, thankful smile.

“Because they’ve been together forever, and my mom kind of laughed at me...and she said I’ll know what to do, and I was a bit confused. Then I realized _that_ was her advice. That I’d already know what to do. That I could trust my instincts because...because that’s what I’ve always done with you, David.” He looks up, meeting his eyes. “That’s why it’s different with you.”

David nods, quickly swiping a tear away. Patrick chuckles, flushed, and thumbs over his knuckles under the table.

Alexis fans herself while Twyla and Jocelyn loudly sniffle. 

“So,” Alexis says, voice slightly too high. “We aren’t going to top _that_.” She finishes her champagne. “So I think it’s time for a little surprise…”

David kisses Patrick softly, murmuring on his lips, “I love you.”

He grins. “I love you…”

Alexis gets up with Twyla and tells everyone to bundle up because the surprise is outside. David and Patrick are the last to get up, still drifting in each other; they’d stay in the booth the rest of the night if they could, but Stevie kicks David in the shin and motions at the door as the others cluster through it. He grumbles, taking Patrick’s hand to pull him up, and they go out the back to an alley.

He watches Alexis and Twyla drag a heavy box from her car and frowns, pressing closer to Patrick in the cold. Twyla beams, taking out a huge firework, and gestures with it while Alexis brandishes some matches.

“Okay,” says Patrick, moving David closer to the building. “I’m -- I’m gonna make sure they don’t blow themselves up.”

Ronnie nods at him in approval, joining him as he approaches Alexis and Twyla. David hugs himself, rolling his eyes with a fond smile, and watches his husband talk his sister down from setting off what appears to be an industrial-grade firework in an enclosed alley.

Alexis gestures, annoyed but agreeable, and drags the box out to the main street. Stevie stands by David, sipping a beer she brought outside.

“Does anyone have an in with the sheriff?” she asks.

“I do,” says Roland, joining them under the eaves. “But old Jeff won’t care. It’s New Year’s.” He chuckles. “By now, he is drunk as a skunk.

Alexis and Twyla jump back after lighting a firework, grabbing hands and running for cover, laughing. Patrick runs with them, rejoining David, and turns just in time to see a massive blue-and-gold firework explode over Bob’s Garage. Everyone _awws_ , staring at it, and David hugs Patrick from behind. He prefers his husband _with_ hands, so he won’t be lighting any more of those tonight. Jesus. Where did Alexis get those, Tijuana? 

“My turn!” yells Roland, grabbing for matches. 

Patrick glances over his shoulder at David with an idea in his eyes. David smirks, waiting, and Patrick takes his hand and pulls him down the alley toward their store. 

“What are you….”

“Better view,” says Patrick, unlocking the back door.

They go inside -- the smell of Tahitian gardenia bath oil is absolutely strangling -- and they glance at each other, naughty, as they pass the massive mess they made earlier.

“We’ll never get this smell out.”

“Literally never.”

Patrick laughs and nods in agreement, then flicks the light on as they step up the stairs to the attic. It’s musky here, stacked with old inventory, freezing. Patrick glances at a hole in the ceiling and sighs.

“Have to fix that…”

“Probably squirrels,” says David, wrinkling his nose.

Patrick chuckles and unlocks the hatch to the roof, then pulls David up after him. David shivers in the wind off the nearby trees, then laughs as a giant firework explodes above them. He shakes his head, tugging Patrick into a closer embrace as he drifts against him. 

They watch Twyla and Alexis light another firework. Alexis slips on the ice and Twyla catches her, screaming a laugh, and pulls her on her butt away from the explosion. Alexis shakes her head, breathless with laughter, and when she stands up, she kisses Twyla hard on the mouth.

“So when did _that_ happen?” David murmurs.

“Probably in New York,” says Patrick.

“Mm. I’m rethinking a text she sent me that week.”

Patrick glances at him, one eyebrow raised. He laughs and shakes his head.

“It said... _why didn’t I spend more time with Twy before?_ With someincriminating emojis.”

“Which ones?”

“Sparkly hearts and hearteyes and a peach?”

“Oh damn.”

David grins and laughs again, watching them. “Mhm.”

They hug each other under the eaves and Ronnie jogs out to light another firework, whooping at Roland, shaking the matches over her head.

“None of this is safe,” remarks David.

“Nope,” Patrick agrees.

“Thank God your cousins didn’t have fireworks.”

“Yeah, we stopped getting those after Liam blew off two of his toes.”

“Now that I’ve met your cousins, I know you aren’t joking…”

“No,” agrees Patrick, watching another firework burst in the snowy sky. 

He leans into David, smiling, then pulls him closer by his jacket and kisses him. David grins, breaking the kiss before chasing it, hands in his husband’s hair. It’s late, he’s tipsy and cold and totally spent, but this moment lingers like a chord in an empty theatre, perfect and pure, preserved in his mind.

“Happy New Year,” he says.

Patrick smiles on his lips, then laughs. “Happy New Year.”

Another firework explodes. David watches the lights play on Patrick’s eyes and he breathes in; sometimes his heart jumps like he just leaped off a pier; sometimes his breath catches like he’s falling, tumbling in the air, unafraid.

He softly exhales, stunned by the latest firework, bright gold and silver, sizzling as it sparkles out. Patrick leans on him and he hugs him close, staring at the sky, listening to the buzz of conversation below, his sister’s laughter, and Stevie’s snorting protests as Ray and Roland light two fireworks at once.

_You won._

He tucks his face against Patrick’s head, sniffling, and squeezes him. They watch the rest of the fireworks, unusually quiet, and stay still after the show fades, unbothered by the snow and the freezing wind. They stay outside after the others hurry in, turning to face each other, bumping noses.

“Um,” starts David, breathing in. “Can we go home? I -- I have something I want to show you.”

Patrick gently pops his brows. “Yeah, of course…”

David nods, tangling their fingers as he takes his hands. They return to the attic, to the backdoor, and lock up before leaving. David texts Alexis to say they’re leaving, adding a promise to catch brunch tomorrow. Then he runs with Patrick across the street, across the high school football pitch, and through their back gate.


	4. Chapter 4

Patrick rubs his face as they go inside, yawning, and tugs off his scarf. David turns on the lights and the heat, eyeing him, amused but shy.

“So...um...I told you my gift wasn’t as good as yours,” he says. “And it isn’t. But…” He breathes out. “I hope you love it.”

Patrick shakes his head, bright with curiosity. David presses his lips together, moving into the kitchen to put on the kettle for peppermint tea, then opens the door to the basement. Patrick’s brows twitch and he sends a tiny smirk at David, who takes another steadying breath. He gestures at the stairs so Patrick starts down them, looking over his shoulder.

“Is it a puppy?”

“God, no, you’re allergic--”

“Aw.” He gasps. “Is it a hypoallergenic--”

David laughs. “No baby, no… keep walking…”

Patrick jogs the last few steps and David holds his breath. Hiding this gift was a logistical nightmare -- he coordinated with Ronnie day by day, checked on the pictures she sent him when Patrick was asleep, bullied Jocelyn and Twyla into a soundcheck. He hasn’t seen it yet, and now he wishes he slipped downstairs to ensure it’s everything he imagined.

Patrick slows, noticing a new wall. The paint is barely dry.

“What...what did you do, David?”

“Um,” says David, emotional; he rolls his eyes at himself -- he isn’t supposed to be crying. Patrick is. “Just open the door.”

Patrick raises his brows, grinning, and opens it. He steps inside, shoulders instantly softening, and opens his mouth.

David watches him. He researched studios for months. Found the best soundproofing, the best mics, outbid everyone at an estate sale for the Yamaha drums and bullied the Jazzagals out of their old Steinway.

He sniffles. “You just. You’re so good, and if you ever -- if you ever wanted to actually record something--”

“David.”

His face is shadowed, but David knows that voice. He shakes his head, slowly turning, and looks down. Then his shoulders shake and he laughs through a tiny sob.

“Okay,” says David, catching him in a hug. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, pressing into him.

David laughs. “I didn’t know if you’d like--”

“I love it."

“Part of the gift is that Ronnie doesn’t hate you anymore. Despite her monologue about your knee. She built this. She offered, actually.”

Patrick chuckles. “Well, it’s beautiful.”

David nods, rubbing his back, and smiles. 

“You thought this wasn’t as good as my gift?” Patrick mumbles.

“I just…” David tips his head back, tingling with relief, and rolls his eyes. “You always get it right,” he says, breathy. “Everything you’ve ever given me has made me feel how much you love me, and when I thought of this, I...I just wanted you to feel that, because I know I’m not good at expressing myself--”

Patrick shakes his head. “Yes you are.”

David presses his lips together. “Um. I’m not, but…”

“Well. Even if you aren’t, I can read between your lines.”

He softens, laughing, and nods. “I know you can.”

“David?” he adds, glancing around. “This is…” He shakes his head again, overwhelmed. “This is everything, this is one of those moments I’ll remember in the middle of the night because it can’t be real, but it is, and I’ll see you next to me and I’ll just…” He swallows. “I’ll burst apart.”

David looks down, crying openly. “Um.” He sniffles. “Good. Good, I love you…”

Patrick drifts into a hug, kissing his shoulder, and they stay like this for a long moment. Then Patrick laughs.

“Is that Jocelyn’s piano?”

“Yes. But I found her a new one in Elm Springs.”

“Is it a good one?”

“Not particularly.”

“Okay David, we might have to--”

“We are not returning this. She gave me her blessing.”

Patrick nods, rubbing his back. Then he murmurs, “Thank you.”

“Just -- just promise me you’ll record our song, just the one--”

“I’ll record whatever you want me to.”

David kisses the side of his head and laughs. “Okay.” He breathes out, dizzy, and kisses him again. “Okay, okay, I love you…”

“I love you, David.” Patrick pulls back, shaking his head a last time. “How did you hide this?”

David wrinkles his nose. “Why do you think I went to Killarney with you?”

“Oh, to hide this, not to meet my family?”

“Well,” says David, smirking. “Win-win.”

Patrick laughs, nodding. Then he stretches into a drifting kiss, soft and sniffling, and David hugs him closer.

“This is going to be a good year,” Patrick says quietly.

David smiles. “The best.”


End file.
